


Wasted Youth

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: The Island (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Internal Monologue, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-31
Updated: 2009-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youth was only ever another agnate away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Youth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://seans-50.livejournal.com/profile)[**seans_50**](http://seans-50.livejournal.com/) [July Film Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/seans_50/90792.html) using _The Island_ as inspiration, and finished in the nick of time. Again.

Youth was wasted on the young: too stupid to appreciate it, they let themselves be caught up in the rush to grow old and waste away, all the while wishing to be young again.

But youth was not wasted on Merrick. Deliberately made and measured, catalogued and cared for, he drank from it, bathed in it, used it all up until only a husk remained, moving on in full knowledge that the next draught was but an agnate away.

There was joy in such mastery, in knowing he had access to a never-ending flow the likes of which Ponce de León could never have imagined; how was he to know to look inward instead of wasting time searching the world?

No. To sense those secrets, one had to be gifted with Merrick's mind, and few would achieve those heights if given a thousand lifetimes. Even fewer still would have the means to pay the toll to stretch one lifetime into two, and that meant Merrick would remain a man without equal.

Jealous colleagues had branded him a monster, ghoul, vampire, fiend and demon in his time, and maybe he was all of those and more, but what was each but a misunderstood god? Gods performed miracles beyond human ken, and that was what the good doctor had done. That was what he was paid to do and what he did every day, answering the prayers of a hundred patrons, his circle of sycophants growing faster than they could sign over their savings.

It was fascinating how quickly "soul-sucker" turned to "saviour" when one's life was on the line.

And so that was what Merrick did: sucked the marrow of life from young bones to keep stale, sluggish blood flowing, to keep the world turning on its axis for the rich and foolish even as he indulged himself in the sort of science no public body would ever fund.

Youth might be wasted on the young, but that didn't mean Merrick couldn't gather up those scattered rosebuds, repackaging each discarded year to sell back to the highest bidder, to be wasted all over again.


End file.
